The Biggest Challenge
by CeeKim
Summary: AU. Extreme mountaineer Alfred F. Jones sets out to conquer his greatest challenge yet located in a rainy, dreary town on the West Coast. His unwilling victim, a florist by the name of Arthur Kirkland, is not amused.


AU. Extreme mountaineer Alfred F. Jones sets out to conquer his greatest challenge yet located in a rainy, dreary town on the West Coast. His unwilling victim, a florist by the name of Arthur Kirkland, is not amused.

* * *

_April 15, 2012_

Arthur Kirkland had never really been one for violence, except in special cases involving certain frogs. Now, he was thinking he might amend that rule to also include Yankees as well.

"Mr. Jones, if you would just let me help."

"No way. You're injured. And call me Alfred."

Arthur's hands itched anxiously as he watched Alfred stumble around the store. "Very well. _Alfred_, then. Please put that plant down. It's due for someone to pick it up later today, so I'd really rather it not be—"

A crash interrupted him.

He sighed. "Damaged."

Alfred was sitting on his butt covered in dirt. The plant in question lay sideways on the ground, leaves crushed and stem broken, looking quite sad and disgruntled.

"Um..." Alfred looked at the plant hesitantly, then back up at Arthur, "I can fix that."

"No, Mr. Jones. I'd rather you not. Why don't you just go climb your bloody mountain?" replied Arthur tersely. He got up, winced, and immediately hoped that Alfred hadn't caught it. Naturally, Alfred did and scrambled over to him. Arthur waved him off and mumbled an apology for smacking Alfred upside the nose although he felt no remorse whatsoever. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a plant to clean, a customer to placate, and a store to run. Good day, sir."

Ribs aching, Arthur fetched the broom and dustpan. If his ribs hurt this much from just sweeping, how would he get through the remaining six weeks until they healed? That was the last time he got into a fight at the bar with a bunch of bloody, drunken wankers. Bloody Americans with their bloody bourbon and their bloody dirty fighting and...

"Arthur."

Arthur turned around with another request for Alfred to leave, but the words died on his lips. Alfred's gaze was direct and serious.

"Please, let me help."

"Uh, well... I..."

The bell that hung above the door was Arthur's saving grace since he had absolutely no idea what he had wanted to say. He turned quickly, ignoring the pain in his side, "Welcome to Kirkland's Flowers. Is there anything I can help you with?"

The boy that had entered the shop looked around uncertainly at the colorful fauna. He looked nervous enough at being in the shop that Arthur half expected him to bolt.

"Um. My prom is..." He mumbled the rest.

Arthur leaned forward a little, "Pardon me?"

"My prom is next..."

"I'm sorry sir, you'll have to repeat that a little—"

"MY PROM IS NEXT WEEK AND I NEED A FLOWER FOR MY DATE." The boy shouted, and immediately had the manners to at least blush and stammer an apology.

Arthur blinked away his surprise and set the broom and dustpan behind the counter. Ah, yes. That's right. Calls kept coming in for corsages and boutonnières. "What color corsage do you need?"

"I need a boutonnière."

Arthur frowned in confusion. "You mean a corsage—the one the girls wear."

The boy's honey-colored eyes narrowed. "No, I mean a boutonnière—the one the guys wear."

"Oh." He felt his cheeks color and a black pit of shame well up in his stomach. "My apologies. What color?"

The flush on the boy's cheeks returned in full. He bowed his head quickly. "...I don't know."

Despite himself, Arthur smiled a little at how innocent this boy was if a little loud. "Tell me about your boyfriend."

"Wha—but he isn't—I mean we're just—" The curl on his head bobbed furiously as he swallowed heavily. "He's Spanish. He's got brown hair and green eyes. He likes tomatoes and is a total bastard."

Arthur bit back an amused smile. "If this is prom, roses are always nice. But since his eyes are green," he swept his eyes over the store, "Then how about this?"

He skirted around the counter and brushed past Alfred who was just standing there watching the exchange. Arthur picked up a pale green rose and held it out for the boy to examine. The boy took the rose from Arthur and ran a thumb over the petals. His honey colored eyes softened.

"This is good," he said.

"$12.95." Arthur said as he strode back to the counter and began tapping away numbers on the register.

The boy quickly put the flower back and scrambled for his wallet.

As Arthur waited for the boy to put the money on the counter, he risked a glance up at Alfred. He regretted it instantly when their eyes met, and Alfred grinned. Arthur scowled at Alfred and snatched up the money with a little more force than necessary.

Determinedly, he looked away from the frustrating American. "Your name, please."

"Lovino Vargas."

"Spelling?"

"L-o-v-i-n-o V-a-r-g-a-s." The boy said. He looked over at Alfred, then back at Arthur as he entered the name into the computer.

"What about _your_ boyfriend?" he whispered quietly.

Arthur missed the submit button with the mouse. He followed the boy's gaze to Alfred who waved cluelessly. "Wha—_him_? He isn't—we're just—I mean, we're not..."

He paused and glared up at the boy who had a triumphant, amused look on his face. "Touche. Come back to pick up the boutonnière next Friday; I'll have it ready for you."

Lovino Vargas nodded, quickly thanked Arthur, and finally left.

As Arthur watched the boy disappear around the corner, he carefully lowered himself into the chair behind the counter.

"Kids these days," he mused, though his words had no bite, "Bunch of little wankers."

Alfred came to lean over the counter and smile at him fondly, "You talk like an old man, Arthur."

"I resent that." What Arthur had _wanted_ to say was, 'fuck you,' but if nothing else, he'd had a good upbringing. Perhaps too much so._  
_

Alfred just laughed. Arthur watched him warily out of the corner of his eye as he closed his eyes and gingerly touched his injured side. Why was Alfred still here, anyways? He'd gotten Arthur home from the hospital just fine. That was all Alfred had been obligated to do since it had been his fault Arthur's ribs were broken...sort of. Besides, Arthur's temples were still throbbing as a reminder of his post-drinking phase, which he not-so-affectionately named his, '_why won't the light just shut up_?' phase.

"Speaking of which..."

Arthur cracked open an eye to look at Alfred as he leaned against the counter. Alfred had plucked a rose from one of the many bouquets on the far wall and was now twirling it in his fingers. Arthur half-heartedly wished the rose still had its thorns.

"How old are you?"

Arthur had to say, he wasn't surprised at Alfred's tact or lack of thereof. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back. "Older than you," he said with a note of triumph in his voice.

"How do you figure?"

Arthur was pleased at the confusion in Alfred's voice, "Intuition."

There was a pause, and then Alfred responded with an amused undertone, "_Women's_ intuition?"

Arthur's eyes snapped open and he stood up quickly, ignoring the pain that flared up in his side. He was speechless for a moment, "Women's intuition? Do I look like a bloody female to you?"

Alfred turned and shrugged, looking deceitfully innocent as he did so, "I dunno..."

"Why you little..." He walked at Alfred briskly with his fists clenched although he had no intention of hitting him.

Then, Alfred turned around and presented Arthur with a face full of red, "Since I don't know when your birthday is, Happy Birthday today!"

Puzzled and oddly flattered, he accepted the rose but glared at Alfred. "You are aware that _this_," he lifted the rose for emphasis, "was mine to begin with?"

Alfred just flashed him a toothy grin, which made Arthur's stomach do a little jig. He turned around to hide the small, helpless smile on his face, "Stupid git."

* * *

_April 16, 2012_

The next morning when Arthur came down the steps from his little apartment above the shop, still half asleep, he stepped on something soft and was greeted with an ear-piercing yelp. He scrambled backwards and flipped the light switch. Alfred was sitting on the ground behind the counter, nursing his hand, which Arthur assumed he had stepped on.

"What in the...why the bloody hell are you still here?"

Alfred flexed his hand and gave Arthur a wounded look, "I told you I would stay with you until you're all better."

Arthur sighed in exasperation, "And I told _you_ to just go home. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

Alfred gave him a pointed look, stood up, and lightly flicked his ribs. White hot fire shot down Arthur's injured side. He bit back a shout and swung at Alfred's head half-heartedly. Alfred just raised an eyebrow at him. Arthur huffed and turned away to the blackboard easel he kept outside the shop of the day's featured flowers, "That still doesn't mean anything. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself _if no one touches my ribs_, you arse." He gave Alfred a poisonous glare.

"Just let me help. And besides," Alfred draped himself over the top of the easel Arthur was writing on, "I'm in between jobs. I'll help you around the shop until your ribs heal, and then I'll be out of your way."

At the mention of being in between jobs, Arthur paused, then sighed. He brushed some of the chalk dust off his hands and looked Alfred in the eyes. They were so blue and so honest and so _puppy-like_ that Arthur looked away after just a few seconds. Bugger. How was he supposed to say no to that?

He sighed and wondered why he did this to himself, "Fine." He ignored how Alfred visibly brightened. "Just...go make us breakfast or something. Hop to it; shop opens in an hour."

"Thanks, Arty." He leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to Arthur's cheek, and then rushed up the stairs.

Arthur scrubbed at his burning cheeks and stood in front of the flower display case but for the love of him could not remember what he was supposed to put in it. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out the daily list of flowers to be put out for display. Arthur groaned at the picture on his list. Of course it would be the rose: a symbol of love, passion, and bloody America.

"Hey, Arthur?" Alfred called from upstairs.

"Yes?" he replied as he began selecting a bouquet of roses for display.

"How do you like your eggs?"

"Scrambled, if you please."

"Bacon?"

"Extra crispy."

"Drink?"

"Cranberry juice."

Arthur heard Alfred give a muffled snicker.

"Oh, shut up. Stop giving me sass. It's good for you."

"If you say so."

Arthur huffed and closed the glass door of the display case. As he washed off his hands in the sink and began to carefully climb the steps, he paused, then grimaced. He and Alfred, it was like they...they were behaving like...a couple. Arthur tried to laugh it off. That was ridiculous. He and Alfred had known each other for less than two days. A couple? That was ridiculous.

When Arthur finally entered the kitchen, Alfred was setting their breakfast on a couple plates and pouring Arthur's cranberry juice. Alfred looked up and flashed Arthur a strangely affectionate smile, "Hey. Go ahead and grab a seat. I'm just about done."

Arthur did as he was told. But only because his stomach wouldn't stop doing flips. He sat quietly as Alfred set the skillet in the sink and brought their drinks over to the table.

"Here you go."

"Thanks." Arthur mumbled and began sipping his juice.

Alfred sat, cut into his egg, and started eating ravenously.

"So...sunny side up?" Arthur asked, eyeing the runny yolk.

Alfred nodded, "Yup. Just like how my ma used to make it. Although the eggs we ate were fresher; we had a chicken coop at the farm and all."

"A farm?" he asked, intrigued. Arthur had never met anyone who lived on a farm before.

"That's right," Alfred's fork touched the plate lightly as his eyes grew distant, "I grew up on a farm in Virginia. We had a whole farm down there—chickens, cows, pigs, horses, you name it."

"We?"

"My ma and pa and my brother and me." Alfred's voice was oddly subdued.

Arthur pushed the eggs around on his plate. Perhaps he shouldn't have asked, and yet, for whatever reason, he wanted to know more. "So what are you doing all the way over here in Washington?"

"Oh, this?" Alfred seemed to force a smile, "I'm a mountaineer. I'm here to climb Mount Rainier."

"I see." That still didn't really answer Arthur's initial question of why Alfred had left his family and his home, both of which he quite obviously loved and missed, but then again, who was Arthur to judge? He raised his fork and put a bit of the scrambled egg in his mouth.

"So what about you? Why aren't you still in England?"

Bugger. Arthur should have known that Alfred would have asked.

"It reminds me of home, being here in Washington. But without the actual _home_. I split from my family the day I turned 18. I took what I had, made for America and never went back. I didn't want them just like they didn't want me. It worked out for the best." Arthur vaguely wondered why he wasn't stopping the angry, bitter stream of words flowing from his mouth. Alfred would think badly of him, just like everyone always did. He would think Arthur was just an impulsive, mistrustful screw-up of a teenager and leave. So why was it that Arthur didn't want him to?

"'It worked out for the best,' you say," Alfred sipped at his milk, "I guess you're right."

Arthur was surprised. Usually, people tended to just nod uncomfortably and let the conversation die away.

"After all, you met me, didn't you?"

Alfred's grin was so cheeky that Arthur couldn't help but laugh, "Yes, I suppose that is true."

Then Alfred's obnoxious grin became a gentle smile.

"What?"

"You should smile more often. You know, I think you're a lot nicer and a lot less like a grumpy old man than you let on."

Arthur wasn't sure if that was supposed to be a compliment or a thinly veiled insult. He just stared at Alfred until the grin dropped off the America's face.

"Oh, uh, that isn't what I meant. I, I mean you're...um..."

Arthur bit back a smirk as he watched Alfred fumble for his words.

"What I meant was," Alfred reached across the table suddenly and grabbed Arthur's hands. Arthur jumped like he's been shocked from the contact. "I think you have a really nice smile, and I'd like to see it more."

Arthur's mouth fell open a little bit when he finally processed Alfred's words, "Oh."

Alfred seemed to realize what he'd said again, and his face flushed. His gaze dropped and fell to their hands, which were still clasped together. He pulled his hands away like he'd been burnt, and as Arthur examined Alfred's bright red ears, he may as well have been.

"Sorry. I think I'm going to go walk around a little outside. It's a nice day out, you think?" Alfred grabbed his coat and rushed down the stairs and out the door.

Arthur's hands trembled as he pulled them back from the table and into his lap. They were still warm from Alfred's touch, and he could see the blasted American's blue eyes and crooked smile in his mind. Finally, Arthur craned his head to look out the window. The sky was a powdery gray like always, but he could see dark storm clouds fast approaching.

"Bollocks." Alfred hadn't taken an umbrella, had he?

Arthur rushed downstairs quickly. He only paused to grab the umbrella before rushing out the door, "Closed" sign swinging on the glass behind him.

* * *

For anyone who is still actually reading Mr. Wonderful, you might be waiting a long while. I've sort of lost my muse to write, and I'm looking for it again. So until that happens, I'm afraid Mr. Wonderful may not be getting an update anytime soon. Until it does get updated, please help yourself to this new story I've started. It shouldn't be too long, which means it is far more likely I update this one than the other.

Sincerely,

CeeKim


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